


the wedding rehearsal at loguetown

by tokyonightskies



Category: One Piece
Genre: But basically Rocinante as the Bride, Kill Bill!AU, M/M, Multi, Roci in a dress, Wedding Rehearsal, nothing too graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4198350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokyonightskies/pseuds/tokyonightskies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the bride - roci</p>
<p>bill - doffy</p>
<p>bb - law</p>
<p>the deadly viper’s assassination squad - vergo, pica, trebol & diamante</p>
<p>.</p>
<p>“Fufufu, look at the blushing bride to be.” Doffy greets him cheekily, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sunlight reflects on his rosé shades, a molten white glint across the reddish pink, like the horizon at sunset.</p>
<p>He tries to calm his racing heart by taking a deep shaky breath and awkwardly arranges the lace tulle around his waist. </p>
<p>“What.. How did you find me?” His question comes out in his hoarse rough voice. He hasn’t been talking much, only what he needs to say, and he’s been smoking twice as much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the wedding rehearsal at loguetown

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know, man. Just roll with it.
> 
> the bride - roci
> 
> bill - doffy
> 
> bb - law
> 
> the deadly viper’s assassination squad - vergo, pica, trebol & diamante

There’s an execution platform in front of the town hall where he’s rehearsing his wedding, set up on wooden poles and looming over the square as a crude and cruel memento mori of the town’s past. Some tourists are staring up at the platform, clutching travel brochures and snail cameras in their hands and listening enraptured to the tour guide as she retells the famous tale of the infamous pirate Gol D. Roger.

Law impatiently tugs on the hem of his plain white wedding dress. Brand new socks stand out above his shoes and his spotted hat has gotten a wash and above all things, his complexion is healthy; no longer are there pale patches on his cheeks or along his neck.

“They started playing your song already, you gotta get inside…” He informs him with a warning stuck to the underside of his tongue, “Don’t trip, okay?!” And with that last piece of sound advice, he slips back inside, between the double doors.

Rocinante takes one last drag of his cigarette, throws it down the stone steps and turns around. He stands a bit shaky on his white heels and carefully lifts the hem of his wedding dress up as he walks. He has half-a-mind to make a soundproof sphere to cancel out the annoying clacking of his shoes but refrains when he straightens his shoulders and lifts his chin and moves to the mayor and his groom to be at the far end of the hall.

Granted, Smoker wasn’t his first choice as a husband and certainly not as a father for his adopted son, but he has been awfully nice to him and he has his way with kids. And, Rocinante adds bitterly, he accepts the fact that you’re a man on the run for your pirate brother. Bellemere looks on from the sidelines, looking smart in her suit and old marine coat. He really couldn’t have asked for a better best man.

They go over the wedding vows and over the legal proceedings and over the adoption papers and over the seating arrangement. Rocinante ignores the startled look on the mayor’s face when he says there will be nobody on his side aside from Law. It gets easier every time. Still, the mayor has some reasons to look surprised, especially since the bride is a lot taller than the groom, since his vows are essentially one big apology and since he insisted there would be not a trace of pink at the wedding. At all.

“He doesn’t like pink much.” Smoker comments as he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his suit vest. They’re not allowed to smoke inside and it’s a scramble between the three marines to get outside for a cigarette break.

The mayor nods amiably for the umpteenth time this afternoon, but he doesn’t pretend to understand and for that Roci feels oddly grateful. He has received so much understanding already and he feels undeserving. Putting Smoker through this just so he can have a place to stay, a place to live, a place to watch Law grow up in the fine doctor he always wanted to become.

His gaze falls on the kid, sitting on the first row on the left, kicking his heels against the underside of his chair. There are flowers pinned to the arm rests of the chairs; a bouquet of peonies and hyacinths and they’re a pale blue, with a white ribbon. Bellemere chose them, because Smoker couldn’t be bothered with the details and Rocinante doesn’t like going out much. Afraid to be watched, he excuses himself, afraid to be found. She picked out his wedding bouquet too. They need a lot of flowers to douse the smell of smoke, she’d joked before lighting a cigarette herself.

“Alright so one more go and then we can call it a day.” The mayor informs them kindly as he waves at the musician in the corner. She nods in turn and positons her fingers on the keys of her piano.

Rocinante goes outside again, almost tripping over the hem of his dress and stumbling to keep upright. Curses slip past his lips as he feels a sharp throb in his right ankle. He wobbles on his shoes as he opens the double doors and goes to stand outside, on the stone steps again. That’s when he nearly has a heart attack.

“Fufufu, look at the blushing bride to be.” Doffy greets him cheekily, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Sunlight reflects on his rosé shades, a molten white glint across the reddish pink, like the horizon at sunset.

He tries to calm his racing heart by taking a deep shaky breath and awkwardly arranges the lace tulle around his waist. “What.. How did you find me?” His question comes out in his hoarse rough voice. He hasn’t been talking much, only what he needs to say, and he’s been smoking twice as much.

Nerves, Rocinante supposes, will be the death of him. If his older brother doesn’t beat them to the punch, of course. Still, Doffy almost looks wistful, peaceful even as he lifts his head and turns to look at him. The square’s empty, quiet and the execution platform seems to smolder in the harsh sunlight. He doesn’t seem to notice, not when the very person he’s been running away from is standing here to look at him.

“You look beautiful, Rocinante.” Doffy compliments him with a smile, reaching out to touch his elbow. His fingertips are uncharacteristically cool. “I mean it.” He adds to give his words more weight; his fingers slide down his forearm. 

The wedding bouquet falls to the ground, a few white petals scatter down the steps and Roci crouches uncomfortably to grab the flowers. He doesn’t know what to say, what to  _do._

_“_ Get away, don’t.. Doffy, what are you doing here?” It comes out in a hiss, his fingers curl around the flower stems in a vice grip. His eyes are squinted shut.

His older brother chuckles then, low and curt, before helping him back upright. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t attend my own brother’s wedding?” There’s a certain airiness to the question, as if it was posed in jest, in  _spite_. 

“It’s a rehearsal.” He corrects almost automatically, not showing his gratitude when Doffy steadies him on his heels. Hands press down on his sides and smoothen the white lace fabric of the tulle. - it brings back memories; black feathers, red lipstick  _smudged_ , a hungry mouth hungering, tugging on his  _redredred_  bottom lip with shark-white teeth.

Doffy laughs and brings those cruel soft hands to his cheeks, cradles his face. There’s a grin on his  _hungry_ mouth and it never served as a good omen before so why would it now? He says, “Your groom to be is so lucky, Roci. Look at you,  _look at you_ , my wolf in sheep’s white.” 

“Go away...” He mutters, beseeches in a gruff voice -- he can hear the music, the wedding march and he has to make his way to the mayor and Smoker and  _Law is in there and Doffy is out here._

His older brother shakes his head, amused at the imploring tone and hisses, “I want to watch. You’ll let me watch and then I’ll leave.”

“Just like that? I’m not an idiot, Doffy.” Rocinante retorts quickly, hotly, hyperaware of those palms pressing his cheeks together.

Doffy’s grin widens, stretches and he knows where that mouth has been and he remembers the warmth of that mouth and the softness of those lips and his stomach is doing summersaults in retaliation and the music grows louder and louder; a staccato beat his heart thumps to. 

“Oh, you’ve certainly shown that, brother-mine.” If his ears aren’t deceiving him, there might’ve even been a hint of praise in there.

“But.” Doffy continues, the button of his nose almost brushing against him and it causes him to suck in air, sharply; “You didn’t really think you could hide forever, now did you?”

_There are consequences to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard._ White flower petals eddy to ground slowly; with his left hand he grabs his brother’s wrist and he tries to pry him off of him but Doffy’s grip is  _redhot_ iron. He nearly falls backwards, due to the loss of balance and he has vertigo on those heels of his. 

His older brother repeats himself, “You’ll let me watch.”

“Will you leave after?” Rocinante finds himself asking and he doesn’t want Law to come outside, he’s praying  _please don’t come outside_. “You have to leave after. Doffy.”

Nothing but a short nod and another chuckle or two, his brother lets go of him and pulls his pink feather coat firmer over his shoulders. Rocinante broke the flower stems of his wedding bouquet. The inside of his thumbs hurt. Doffy opens the doors for him and takes a seat at the back of the room. He revels in the shocked expression of that marine woman, in the scowl on Smoker’s face, in that tiny little gasp Law makes at the front. 

Roci closes his eyes and focuses on every step he takes. He loses at least two lilies underway and the blossoms slide down the length of his skirt, rumpled and sad-looking. Smoker moves to meet him halfway but he gets stuck, frozen in place; held in place by something invisible. From his seat, Doffy only shakes his head and waddles his index finger --  _nuh uh._ He’s grinning widely and crosses one leg over the other. Rocinante swallows the uneasiness down and keeps walking.

Behind him the double doors swing open. The music comes to a clattering halt and he opens his eyes wide, looking at Smoker in front of him, on the expression on his face. Slowly, he dares to cast a glance over his shoulder and his heart just stops. Bellemere surges forwards but doesn’t get much further because gunshots ring through the air, loud and deafening and she’s on the ground then, clutching her abdomen and bleeding. 

The mayor unexpectedly is the first one to scream. Rocinante snaps around suddenly and throws his bouquet to the side and starts to rip up his wedding dress to move more freely. Doffy only laughs at him while his four executives in their black suits and their sunglasses and with their rifles stand impassively in the hallway. 

“Don’t kill the kid.” That’s the only thing Doffy orders.

Roci’s fair game too then and it’s the last coherent thought that crosses his mind before an uppercut from Vergo sends him staggering and he finds himself crashing down on his back. Gunshots resound sharply, in rapid succession; and he wants to yell at them to run but he can’t talk because Pica’s on him in an eye blink and his fists are set in stone.

It’s over so quickly. He faintly hears the soft  _purupuru_  of a den den mushi. Jora’s grating voice answers the call and if he turns his head ever so lightly, he can see how she has a firm grip on Law’s shoulder. He’s struggling, convulsing almost. Roci coughs and it hurts,  _everything_ hurts so badly. His ribs are bruised from Trebol’s cane, his head is throbbing from all the punches. Bellemere is dead, Smoker is dead, the mayor is dead, the town hall officials are dead and the piano girl is  _dead._

Doffy’s looming over him, menacingly and he extends his hand to Vergo, who promptly hands him a handkerchief. It even has his jolly roger smiley embroidered on it. Roci’s faintly aware of how he presses the handkerchief against his bleeding cheek. 

“Now look at what you did.” His older brother chides, as if he’d used his favorite pistol without asking. As if he’d done something trivial and childish. 

His white wedding dress is tattered, bloodied and dirty. One of his shoes is at the other end of the hall. He spits out some blood in reflex. His chest is  _burning_ from Pica’s punches.  

Doffy softly wipes his bloodied brow and murmurs, “Look at  _you._  What you force me to do. What you’ve forced me to do.”

Roci hears Law, hears him crying and yelling and hears him trashing. His eyesight is unfocused, blurred. Where’s Law? His fingers clench and unclench reflexively. 

“Look at what you forced me to do to my only living relative.” Doffy continues as he stands upright again and hands Vergo the blood-splattered handkerchief back.

Diamante gives him a pistol. 

He gasps for breath. He rasps, “Don’t. Don’t hurt Law..”

Doffy seems to be grinning and a grin of Doffy’s was never a good omen for anything. 

 


End file.
